Darker Shoulders to Lean On
by that angsty impala
Summary: S1E12 "Faith" AU in which Sam does not find the healer in his Dad's journal. Sam struggles with the realisation that his brother is going to die and takes matters into his own hands. Can Sam save his brother in time and what will he have to sacrifice in return? hurt!Sam/angsty/protective/caring!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

_Darker Shoulders to Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic_

**Hi Guys! So this is my first Supernatural Fanfic, so I'm pretty excited about this! I hope you like this! Two shot. I know I haven't posted the next chapter of "Friends Forged in Fire", but, like I promised in my bio, it's defiantly coming! This Fic takes place in S1E12 'Faith' and is an alternate plot.**

**Full Summary:**

'_Sam has contacted everyone in his father's journal, praying that one of them will have the answer, that one of them will know how to save Dean. With no such luck, Sam has finished holding out hope, but is still more than a little unwilling to exept that it's over. So when a mysterious stranger knocks at Sam's door, baring the prospect of saving Dean, will it truly be enough, and will Sam still be around to find out?'_

_**Enjoy! R&amp;R**_

Chapter 1

Sam dialled again, his thumb punching at each key in turn, his clear frustration scored across each motion his weary body made like a tally, counting, continually counting; marking each mistake, every failed attempt to do something, anything to save him.

Anything to save Dean.

His brother.

He couldn't, wouldn't lose him.

Not Dean.

_You could have saved him_, Sam mentally fumed, his mind raw and itching with the painful resolution.

_If you'd just been quicker, or moved your sorry arse a little faster and actually had his Damn back for once in your fucked-up life then... then everything would be...then Dean wouldn't be..._

Sam swallowed painfully, his eyes aching from the dry strain of restraining his unshed tears.

His failure, his inability to save Dean had sent him into a state of bodily hibernation, (though his mind was still spinning like a treadmill) and he had stopped providing his body with the things that it so desperately needed to carry on.

He would forget to eat, to busy drilling himself like an army marshal: _Contacts, read through the contacts again, you missed someone, they're probably on the next page, damn it Sam, focus, you've not given up yet._

With an irritated sigh he thumbed the end call button, and, frustrated, flung his phone across the motel room where it broke apart against the wall with a dull thump and the tinkling of plastic.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose firmly between his thumb and forefinger, hoping to relieve his mind of some of the pent up pressure inside: the result of days without proper rest and even scarcer nights of sleep.

_"There's nothing more we can do now but make his last few months comfortable, I'm afraid... I'm so sorry."_

Sam growled, frustrated with the words that always seemed to worm their way back into his ears. _Like Hell_. He snarled, hiding the surfacing worry with a show of strength.

He sighed deeply, his breath shuddering slightly on the intake.

_That's what Dean would do._

Sam flopped back on the bed, the cheap motel mattress creaking beneath him. _I'm not giving up, Dean. I promise, I'm just…_

Sam rubbed both hands over his face, his palms digging into the hollows of his eyes. He was suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion, many sleepless nights catching up with him in a surge of emotion.

His eyes swam out of focus, suddenly misted over and he was unable to see the dimly lit motel room around him.

_Damn it._ He thought letting out his breath in a huff. _Dean would gank me if he saw me lying' here cryin' over his sorry ass. _Sam let a small, watery laugh escape him, and slid his eyes tiredly closed, and tried not to think about Dean.

He remembered once before, and it seemed so long ago now, before Dean was... before he couldn't... they were flying down a stretch of road, just outside of Indiana, the Impala purring beneath them, eating up the tarmac at about 90 miles an hour. They'd just finished a job, and with another demon blown to hell the two Winchesters were in high spirits, no matter how easy the salt and burn had technically been. The stereo blared some old track that Sam vaguely recognized: 'Old American rock crap' (as he called it) that he actually kinda liked (but he wasn't going to be telling Dean that any time soon). The windows were fully down, blasting cool air into Sam's face and carding through his hair, soothing his warm features. He turned to Dean and smiled because, in that moment, everything was good, and when a Winchester is offered good, if even just for a car drive past Indiana, he'll take it.

For a few minutes, Sam drifted peacefully on the brink of sleep, and for just one moment in the last week, he was blissfully unaware of everything: his problems, Dean's problems, their Dad, Jessica, and for a second, even his own heavy conscience.

Sam's head snapped up sharply, his green-brown orbs wide and piercing as he stared down the length of the bed, hearing a sharp wrap of knuckles on the room door. This effectively jarred his neck, causing a lash of pain to whip up the length of the muscle.

"Ah, well crap." Sam groaned, sitting up hastily. His heart and mind was running at a controversially fast rate to the rest of his senses, and he could already feel the adrenalin pumping into his bloodstream from a lifetime of experience.

The knock came again, the same pace, the same volume.

The same knock.

Sam swallowed shallowly.

He fumbled for the gun on the bedside table, hurriedly stuffing it up into his belt loop before he stood from the bed.

His heart was pounding, his breaths released in small puffs.

_C'mon Sammy._ He thought hastily, his overtaxed mind grasping at possibilities. _Since when did the killer knock on the door?_

_And since when did room service come round at one in the morning?_ His mind countered, doing nothing to help the situation at hand.

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, and starting towards the door. His long legs got him there in less than three strides, and, leaving no room for a counter decision, he place one hand on his gun, and threw the door wide.

"_Don't do anything stupid, Sammy." Dean pressed, His eyes wide and serious as he searched his brother's pale, sunken face. "Now, I'm not the kind of person to give up easily, and you know that, right Sammy? I'm a Winchester, that's what we do, we're stubborn." He swallowed deeply, his chest tight as he watched his little brother bow his head slowly in response. "And I don't care, I don't care what the doctor's say, Sammy, but I'm gonna keep hangin' on in here, and you're not gonna do anything stupid, Ok, you got me, little brother?"_

_Sam didn't reply, raising his eyes so that they locked with Dean's. _

"_Sam, you gotta promise me, man, you can't do anything stupid in the hopes that it will fix this, don't put yourself in danger for me, 'cause that's the kinda stupid-ass thing you'd try to do, and I'm not-"_

"_Damn it, Dean!" Sam shouted abruptly, rising from his chair with such force that he knocked it over backwards where it hit the floor with a clatter. "Don't say stuff like that, Ok? You act like your worth nothing, man, and you don't care about your own life! You act like the only thing that matters is the people that you save, and you'll be damned if you die for them. Think about the people that have died, Dean, think about Mum, or Jessica. They'd do anything to be alive, Dean! You wouldn't care if you died tomorrow, would you?"_

_Dean remained silent, staring at his brothers' outbreak of rage and frustration, his jaw clenched and face impassive._

_Sam threw his hands in the air, and they fell to his sides with an expressive slap on his jeans as Dean's doctor walked in, obviously roused by Sam's outburst. _

"_I don't care what you think, dude," He fumed, shooting Dean one last look as he shouldered on his jacket before leaving the hospital room, "You're not dying on me."_

Dean sighed deeply, pulling himself back from the painful memory and wishing he could change the past. He hadn't seen Sam since he had stormed out of the hospital, leaving Dean alone once more and feeling even guiltier than before. He had tried to warn his younger brother not to do anything rash, not to run straight into the situation or do anything that could potentially endanger himself, and (Dean suspected) had succeeded in doing completely the opposite. Sam's outburst was proof of that. His brother was now more likely to do something brash and irresponsible than before.

He was truly scared for the first time in his life, and not because of a hunt or some kind of supernatural being. He was scared of true human nature. Whilst he lay, powerless and weak in a hospital bed, Sam could be out there in trouble, in the midst of a fight, or bleeding out without him at his back, by his side, where he was made to be. Dean shuddered, terrible images flashing through his mind. He blinked rapidly, trying to wash the images away. _Even_ _Sam's not that thick_, Thought Dean hurriedly, trying to sooth his throbbing conscience. _Even Sam would know when not to risk his life for mine._

**Next chapter up soon, along with 'Friends Forged in Fire' Chapter 3! R&amp;R**


	2. Chapter 2

Darker Shoulders To Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic

**Hi Guys! So you know how about, let's think, a year ago I said I'd be updating soon? Well, um I guess I kinda lied! I ground to a holt with fic writing tbh, a horrible combination of writer's block, school work and stress, so um, if you even still remember this fic (and I won't blame you if you don't!) here is chapter 2!**

**P.S. Thank you so much for sticking with me if you are infact reading on from the last chapter, and hope you enjoy!**

**Also, you know how I said in chapter one that this would be a two-shot? I kinda lied about that too!**

**Enjoy R&amp;R!**

Previously…

_He was truly scared for the first time in his life, and not because of a hunt or some kind of supernatural being. He was scared of true human nature. Whilst he lay, powerless and weak in a hospital bed, Sam could be out there in trouble, in the midst of a fight, or bleeding out without him at his back, by his side, where he was made to be. Dean shuddered, terrible images flashing through his mind. He blinked rapidly, trying to wash the images away. _Even Sam's not that thick,_ Thought Dean hurriedly, trying to sooth his throbbing conscience. _Even Sam would know when not to risk his life for mine.

_Now…_

Chapter 2

Sam blinked several times, his brow creasing in confusion as he stared through the now open door frame. The motel car park beyond looked completely empty, the edges slowly seeping into shadow the farther from the motel building the tarmac stretched. Sam glanced around quickly, his eyes skimming the horizon like a skater on ice. After tossing a quick look to the top of the door frame, half expecting a guillotine to spring forth and decapitate him and smiling in spite of himself, Sam stuck his head across the doorway's dividing lines in an effort to gain a better view of the surrounding area.

"Hello, Sam." A voice from behind him spoke, and Sam, quick as a whip, lashed around with the cool metal of the gun steady and poised in his hands.

The sight that met Sam's eyes surprised him. A young girl, no more that sixteen stood there, with a mop of glossy, dirty-blonde hair adorned with vines swept in a messy bun atop her head. Tendrils of both hung down in wavy, uneven coils that seemed to sway by themselves, making it hard to distinguish where the hair ended and the vines began, as if they were one thing. Her eyes shone a deep, menacing purple, and dark flakes of inky colour occasionally flitted through them. Her pale demeanour seemed to almost glow in the dim light from the streetlamps beyond the gritty motel room, and she was wrapped in an assortment of tattered silk wrappings that were nothing short of antique. She seemed unreadable: Beautiful yet terrible at the same time.

"Who are you?" Sam hissed, his voice laced with steely intent.

"You need not know who I am." She said shortly, her hands clenched delicately in front of her. "Just that I am the only one who may be able to help you."

"I don't want your help." Said Sam bluntly, flexing his fingers around the handle of the weapon. "Not until I know who the hell you are."

"Are you sure? " She said innocently, shrugging "I may be the only one who can save your brother." She grinned, displaying rows and rows of small pointed teeth, like a sharks.

"But if you don't want my help, then that's no loss on my part." Her grin widened, her lips thinning to pale strips as she slid towards the door.

"Wait! What do you mean you can save him?"

"Lower the weapon and we shall talk." She took a measured, confident step in his direction.

"No." Sam said bluntly, tightening his hold on the 'weapon' in question.

"I said," She hissed, her eyes clouding over with malice. "Lower the weapon." She flicked her had to one side and Sam's gun was torn from his hands. It flew against the wall and where it should have made contact with the peeling motel paper, it disappeared in a dispersion of purple smoke.

"It is lucky for you that I truly wish to discuss the matter, for I have turned down much more over much less."

With the grin still plastered to her face, she sank into a chair that rested behind her, and wrapped her shawl further around herself.

Sam mentally gulped.

"Now, I can save our sweet, innocent little Dean, no more heart issues, no complications, and I shall even clear up a certain liver infection on the horizon that none of your modern medicine men could possibly yet have detected."

"But?" Sam questioned, every sense screaming at him to reach for the knife in his boot. "What's the catch?"

"Well! I wasn't exactly going to cure your brother for _nothing_ now, was I?" She giggled, a strange sound escaping her, like the scraping of nails down a blackboard. Sam cringed, the sound making his teeth itch.

"I will heal your brother," She licked her lips with a forked tongue that gave Sam the strange urge to bite his own. "If you let me use you." Her eyes glimmered; her eyes alight with sadistic intent.

"U-use me?" Sam stuttered, clearly taken aback, and took a careful step backwards.

"No!" She giggled, her eyes suddenly alight with glee, "Not like _that! _Oh, you humans! So narrow of mind._" _She shook her head slowly, and whether authentically or not, proceeded to wipe a tear from her eye.

"No," She chuckled, her hideous laughter slowly fading out. "I simply wish for you to be the subject for the ritual."

"What sort of ritual?" Asked Sam cautiously, already surprised at the minimal extent of the task. Suddenly, Dean's voice filled his head, expressing advice from a long ago hunt;

_If you're in the dark about what's going on, and a hunt seems too easy, there's gonna be a catch or you've done it wrong._

"I mean," Sam added "What will it do?"

"Silly Sammy," She smiled, once again shaking her head, her voice dripping like silk in syrup.

"As young as I appear, I am much older and more powerful than your average demon or poltergeist. This," She added, gesturing towards her own form. "Requires more maintenance than you might imagine" She rolled her eyes, sensing Sam's next question. "_And _it will heal your brother! I will utter an incantation over your flesh and then your brother will be up and walking like a man resurrected!" she leaned back in the chair, her eyes carefully studying Sam's features.

"That's not what I meant," Sam mumbled quickly, hating how childish it sounded, even to his ears. He sighed, defeated. "What will happen to me?"

The girl giggled again, covering her fanged mouth in a mockery of manners.

"Oh sweetie, there will be consequences, and I'm afraid the pain will be truly awful, but at least they won't last too long, and you'll get to see Dean good as new again!"

"Why are you helping me anyway?" Sam asked, his mind already made up.

"Oh, Sam," She said shaking her head, almost in a disappointed manner. "Firstly, it's my _job_ to cause _bodily pain_, and usually I'm not the caring sharing sort of type, but your _mental_ pain is really messing with my 'mojo', as you people like to put it today." She made small visual quotation marks with her slim fingers to emphasize. "Really, it's a win-win." She smiled sweetly, tilting her head to one side like a curious puppy about to bite. "You and your brother are rather the fetish in monster circles: A deal with the great Sam Winchester would _defiantly_ give me some publicity." She blinked rapidly, her eyes flashing dangerously in the overhead light.

"So, do we have a deal?"

Sam paused before nodding tightly, his face impassive.

"How do we seal it?"

She chortled knowingly, almost as if she'd been asked the question many times before. "People like you always seem to expect a kiss or something; I'm not one of those… _hell scum_ you know." She wrinkled her nose, stretching out her arm in Sam's direction. "I simply prefer a shake of the hand, if you wish to make it official."

Sam swiftly clasped her taloned hand in his, inwardly surprised by the crushing strength that she applied.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mr Winchester."

He gasped in surprise as the long vines snaked forth from her to rap around his arm, digging deeply into his flesh as a burning sensation radiated outwards from the wrapped vines. Sam stifled a cry as blood began to pound from beneath the vines, his own blood pattering wetly onto the motel carpet.

The girl grinned wickedly, tightening her grip on Sam's arm one last time before withdrawing her own. Sam stumbled back, almost tripping over in the wake of his sudden release.

"Meet me," She grinned, licking Sam's blood from her tentacles, her eyes glowing in delight. "I'll be there."

Sam's eyes flew open, his body lurching up from its horizontal position on the bed, his Dad's journal sliding from his lap. He tasted the coppery tang of blood heavy on his tongue and felt a cold sweat resting on his forehead. Shakily, Sam looked down at his forearm, and sucked in breath at the discovery of an address burned into the pale flesh.

Sam stumbled to the bathroom accompanied by the ever present odour of burnt flesh which assaulted his nose, causing him to retch. It sickened him to the stomach knowing that it was the smell of his own flesh that he was gagging on. Blood flowed steadily from the split and singed skin, and Sam bit his lip as he attempted to roll his sleeve back to gain a better view of the damage. Burnt skin clung to the material of the shirt, and peeled away in places like elastic as it welded with the fabric. Sam hated burns, always had, and yet he always seemed to receive the brunt of them whenever they met any kind of fire breathing, supernatural nastie. Sam had had enough of them to know that the current state of his forearm was pretty bad.

Sam choked back tears as he finally managed to peel the shirt from his forearm, the pain crippling, and clumsily worked the ruined article from his arm where he flung it straight into the bin. He hated the idea that part of him was fused to it. Sucking in breath, he shakily walked to the sink where he clumsily dropped the plug into the bottom of it. He then turned the wheel of the cold tap, his fingers awkwardly slipping off the smooth surface as he turned on the cold water flow. He caught a look at himself in the mirror and sadly wasn't surprised by the pasty pallor of his skin. He'd seen this sort of thing too many times to know otherwise.

Before he could think twice, he plunged his forearm into the basin and let out a strangled cry as his muscles spasmed in resistance and the pain consumed everything he knew. White hot light clouded his vision and he didn't feel the tears spilling from his eyes until the pain subsided and the water's cool demeanour suddenly changed from a curse to a blessing, and he groaned in contentment as the water stopped the deep-felt aching that was previously pressed into his skin like hot pokers.

Grabbing one of the plush, white motel towels, Sam dunked in quickly into the basin of freezing, now-pink water, cringing at the steadily returning feeling of the stabbing pain of his arm. With the pain came a sudden wave of nausea, and before he could stop himself he was emptying what little lunch he had eaten into the bathroom toilet. Sam groaned as he dry heaved, unable to bring up any more of what little food he had forced himself to eat, and slumped back on his heels, defeated, his arm burning painfully anew. Sam groped in the basin for the waterlogged towel and upon finding it, wrapped it slowly around his arm, somewhat dulling the pain.

Dragging himself to his feet, head pounding, Sam weakly stood and swayed his way back into the bedroom. After scrawling a quick note to anyone who may return to the room (namely Bobby, or even Dean, stupid son of a bitch if he did come this far from the hospital) informing them of where he'd gone, Sam headed for the fridge. Hopefully he could grab himself an ice pack, a drink and a truckload of painkillers before dragging himself to ' 23' Dunwhere Road' to slap fate in the face and save his brother's life. If there was even a chance that this could work, Sam was going to take it.

The drive to 23 Dunwhere Road had been tense, each minute taking too much time, each mile taking too long to disappear. Even Dean's tapes hadn't managed to lessen the electrically charged atmosphere behind the wheel, and after only a short while of Metallica, they had become an all too familiar reminder of their owner, and Sam didn't need those thoughts clouding his already troubled mind.

Upon pulling into the street, Sam's first impression was that it was incredibly crowded for such a run down, bordered up place. Many of the shops were empty, '_To Let_' signs glowing white from many of the grimy windows. It took Sam a short while to remember that it was in fact very close to Thanksgiving, and that was he a normal person with a job and a family, he may be among those people.

Sam sighed, resisting the urge to itch at the now bandaged burns on his right arm. The painkillers had dulled the ever-present scalding fire to a dull heated throb, and though he doubted that the scars would heal completely, he hoped that they would fade at least to discolouration as opposed to reading '23 Dunwhere Road' for the rest of his life. _Dean would be making jokes. _Sam thought miserably, hating how out of place he felt in the driver's seat without Dean's familiar presence in the Impala.

Sam had crossed the street quickly, nobody sparing him a second glance through the heavy flow of shoppers, and swiftly counted the numbers down to number 23. The building was dark and foreboding, three stories high with a thin strip of attic, its skeletal features protruding like the bones of a malnourished child. Shoppers paces became subconsciously quicker as they walked through its shadow, and others turned up their collars as if to block it out completely.

Sam spotted a door to the right of the building and decided that that was probably his best option. Opening it slowly, he rested the palm of his left hand against the hilt of his knife for reassurance. It felt somehow wrong meeting with a monster for the purpose of anything other than killing it.

Sam cursed under his breath as he moved up the stairs, sure that he had already lost the element of surprise judging from the amount of noise that each step made, and spotted a large room at the top of the attic hallway that the stairs fed into.

"Well," Sam muttered, moving slowly down the hall, "If I were a smug, self-important, boarder-line-sadistic monster, that's sure as hell where I'd chose to camp out." Sam crept down the hall, hugging to the shadows; each foot placed carefully in an effort to remain undetected. Upon reaching the door, Sam slowly turned the knob and froze as an eerie tune floated through the sliver of open space between the doorframe and the door itself. It was a strange melody that Sam was sure he recognised as a crude attempt at the American national anthem, and he listened on the other side of the door, steeling his nerves. Just as he was about to enter, the singing stopped and an all too familiar voice called;

"Sam sweetie? It's _rude_ to hang outside doors you know. "

Sam sighed, and upon accepting that he had no choice, forcefully pushed open the door.

The room was long, probably spanning almost the entire attic floor, and a row of grimy windows rested in the wall on the side of the street four stories below. In the centre, perched on a plush green armchair sat Sam's favourite monster, green vines crusted with his blood, sadistic grin plastered in place. Her arms rested at the elbow on an angled table adorned with a silky black cloth, upon which rested a strange assortment of bones, plant matter, sticky liquids and symbols from multiple cultures as far as Sam could tell up-side-down.

"You took your time, Sam, at one point I wondered if you were going to show"

Anger flowed from inside Sam, and he glanced at her creepers once again.

"Yeah? Well I could have been here a hell of a lot sooner, if you hadn't _burnt the fucking address into my flesh. _Most people just, you know, _tell_ each other where they're going to be, or _write it down_."

"I like to make a lasting impression, and anyway," She continued, picking dried blood carelessly from her vines. "That's no way to talk to the lady that's going to save your brother. She twitched an innocent smile "I could just as easily stop that damaged heart from beating."

Sam's retort died in his throat, his heart settling somewhere in his stomach. His pride he could lose: there was no way he was going to gamble with Dean's life.

The girl smiled maliciously. "That's better now Sammy,"

Sam glared daggers, swallowing hard.

"Stoic and silent, that's how we gonna do it, huh?" she shrugged and stood, "As they say, that's no skin off my nose."

She grinned, her eyes flashing red for a moment before returning to their burning purple.

"Let's begin"

Before Sam could register what was happening, vines wound forth from the creature's hair to wrap around his body, and as Sam cried out in surprise he was slammed into the table, his back connecting harshly with its array of herbs and liquids.

The women bent forward, pressing her lips to Sam's ear and smiled as he shuddered against her.

"I'm not sure if you know how much torture this whole ordeal has put me through, Sam" She lashed out her tongue, giggling as Sam recoiled. "Unfortunately, when I make a deal, I have to honour it, otherwise the consequences on my part can be…severe." She continued, drawing a long handled, double edged knife from beneath her silken folds of clothing. "When I learnt of your position in town, I was ready to kill you and your arrogant brother, but even though now I must let him live, your death will be all the more useful to me."

Without warning, her fangs extended from her gums, and she sank them harshly into Sam's side sucking blood from him in great gulps and laughing as he cried out, struggling in his bounds to get away from her.

She fed for a few minutes, occasionally pausing to tighten the vines holding Sam splayed across the table on the occasion that he would twitch or moan in pain. She grinned, watching him as the blood and strength drained from his veins, and when she finally pulled back, her maw was smeared with his blood.

"Now, Sam," She spoke softly, trailing a finger down the clamped muscles of his jaw "That should take a little of the fight out of you, don't want you moving too much for the next part."

Sam groggily acknowledged her actions and weakly tried to move, jerking his head away, but the combination of blood loss and leafy restraints kept him firmly in place. The constant, drumming pain in his side was his only solid anchor to reality. A thin moan tore itself from Sam's lips as he thought of how much Dean was going to kick his ass later on, how mad he would be if he knew what exactly Sam had gotten himself into.

From somewhere outside of his own mind a dull, rhythmic chanting floated to his ears, and though he couldn't make out what exactly it was the voice was saying, it was low and gravelly, as if two voices were speaking at once. Through his foggy haze, he vaguely recognised the voice had paused, and before he could react, there were cold hands on either side of his face.

"Sam, sweetie, I feel obliged to inform you that for the next part I'm going to need a little bit of, well, _you_, and I'm afraid it's going to be very, very painful."

_Sorry Dean, _was Sam's last coherent thought before white-hot pain exploded across his abdomen, and he finally allowed himself to scream.

_**Hopefully tbc soon…**_


	3. Chapter 3

Darker Shoulders to Lean on ~ a Supernatural Fanfic

**Hi Guys! So I decided to try and get down to writing this chapter as soon after I finished the last one as I could, and a gap in the juggernaut that is my homework at the moment has given me the perfect window of opportunity! Thank you so much for sticking with the story so far, every review is love! Also I know that this is still a really long time coming… but it's not like it's a year or anything…right? XD**

**Anyways, here is the next chapter, Enjoy! **

**All reviews are welcomed! Thank you!**

_Previously…_

_From somewhere outside of his own mind a dull, rhythmic chanting floated to his ears, and though he couldn't make out what exactly it was the voice was saying, it was low and gravelly, as if two voices were speaking at once. Through his foggy haze, he vaguely recognised the voice had paused, and before he could react, there were cold hands on either side of his face._

"_Sam, sweetie, I feel obliged to inform you that for the next part I'm going to need a little bit of, well, you, and I'm afraid it's going to be very, very painful." _

Sorry Dean_ was Sam's last coherent thought before white-hot pain exploded across his abdomen, and he finally allowed himself to scream._

_Now…_

Dean was pissed. No, he wasn't pissed, Dean could handle pissed; what he was feeling now was way worse. Dean felt panic: a dizzying, gut-wrenching panic that made his head spin. His whole life, Dean had handled his emotions, kept a tight lid on the fear and the anger and the guilt until it was safe to release it because that was what he had had to do, but it was different, had always been different, when it came to Sam. There was no hiding it. No pretending. No playing games when it came to Sam's life.

_Stupid son of a bitch, _Dean thought angrily, grinding his teeth together and thumping the steering wheel in frustration. Why couldn't the kid see it? Why couldn't he understand that his life wasn't worth laying out on the line for Dean's? That Dean would happily loose his own life as long as it meant that Sammy was safe?

Dean had returned to the motel room, sick of feeling so weak, so powerless lying in the hospital bed: If he was going to die it was going to be on_ his_ terms. The walk, though thankfully short had sapped much of his diminishing energy supply, and though he wouldn't admit it to Sam, he would quite happily sleep for a week. Each step had been painful, his abused chest struggling to draw breath, and by the time he'd reached the room door he was panting for breath.

Upon drawing level with the door, Dean had bumped his knuckles clumsily against the thin wood, his strength sapped by the short trek from the hospital. Expecting Sam to open the door from within, Dean had stepped away, rubbing the sockets of his eyes briefly with his palms. He had waited less than a minute before bringing out the lock picks, not enthusiastic about spending any more time than he had to outside. It had been almost two when Dean had left the hospital, and so he figured that the time should now be almost two thirty; freaking cold outside.

Dean couldn't wait to see Sam. Every moment in the hospital was a moment spent in solitude, and he missed the normality, the puzzle piece out of place in his life that was his baby brother at his side. He's felt for the first time in months the same familiar empty ache that he had every day that Sam had been at Stanford, though this time Sam wasn't the one leaving. That was part of the reason for his sudden departure: If he were going to spend his last moments anywhere, it would be by his brother's side.

But upon entering the room, there had been no Sam. Confusion had quickly given way to fear at the sight of the cloudy, bloody water splattered about the bathroom, and that was how Dean found himself now, doing 80 down an empty highway toward the neighbouring town in a crappy hotwired Toyota: panicking.

At least he knew the address; thank God Sammy had had the common sense to leave him that. Regardless of whatever shit-stupid situation his brother now found himself wound up in, Dean could forgive him, whatever he'd done, wherever he was, just as long as he came home safe.

Sweat collected under Dean's palms as his brain went into overdrive, his thoughts careering across his head as if stuck in a pinball machine, his heart catching and stuttering labouredly against his ribs. He could hardly see, hardly breathe, and pain was suddenly everywhere: his ribs, his eyes- as if every atom of his body was being stripped slowly apart. And Dean threw back his head in agony, a scream ripping itself from his throat. His mind was a whitewash, crimson pain lapping up the insides of his skull and suddenly Dean was thrown forwards, only dimly aware of the car slamming to a stop.

His heart thudded.

And then it kept going.

And then again, the beat pounding like a jackhammer against his chest. Another beat; strong and regular, no longer the erratic, stuttering pulse Dean was now so accustomed to hearing. For a split second there was awareness: he was crashed in a ditch by the side of the road, mouth agape like a madman.

Heart beating.

And then there was realisation, a deep, familiar, bone numbing sensation that Dean was now all too familiar with: Panic.

The puzzle pieces were coming together, and Dean didn't like one bit the picture they were creating.

"Shit, Sammy, what have you done?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam's body fall back into the table, body shivering from both blood loss and the early inset of shock. Pain threw itself in waves from his torso, dulling his other injuries to a dim throbbing beside the torn, bloody mess that was his skinned abdomen. The women, or rather creaturebefore him had flayed a ten inch strip of skin from his stomach, leaving a huge, gaping wound of exposed muscle to the open air. Sam had passed out not long after, only to be woken again as a harsh slap was thrown across his face.

"Sammy, darling I know it seems bad now but it won't be for too much longer" she retreated then, throwing the flap of skin into a small bowl before stepping out of range of Sam's dulled vision. "I just need a little more"

She returned then, two large instruments held in her bloody grasp.

"W-what-d'you think y'r-you doin' wi' those?" Sam had slurred, head lolling to one side.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, pulling her blade from its place at her hip. "I just need one more thing to complete the spell; something a little more, well, _solid_ if you know what I mean."

Sam did know what she meant and he recoiled, fear growing like a poisonous plant in the pit of his stomach.

"N-no" he slurred, bucking weakly in an effort to move away from her steady advance "get-th-fuck-way from'e"

"Hurtful language, little Sammy," she hissed, laying her knife once again against Sam's skinless flesh just above his bottom rib, causing a gasp to fly from his throat as his muscles convulsed in pain. "But I'm afraid this is going to hurt just that little bit more."

She slashed forth, blade carving deep into the muscle, and Sam screamed, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes and down into his hairline. The feeling of the blade twisting in the muscles of his abdomen was almost too much to bear and he gulped down another scream, a small breathy whimper escaping him instead.

"Just hold still, Sammy," she breathed in delight, using her fingers to further part the wound and tearing another yell from Sam's throat. "It shall be all over, perhaps all too soon"

"Don'fuckn-call'e-S'mmy" Sam spat, eyes glassy and wandering, pain clouded in every line of his face.

The woman just sneered, eyes full of malice as she moved forward, chisel and pliers in hand.

Blood ran down his sides, he felt it hot and gushing through his web of pain. His chest was alight. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see. All he was aware of was the sickening cracking of bone. It turned his stomach and he threw his head to the side as he vomited, hot bile mixing with the tears streaming down his face. There was a stomach-turning crack and a sudden pain so intense his vision dimmed, and for a moment his senses dropped out. Dimly he was aware of himself screaming his brother's name, and he tried to curl in on himself, the pain crippling.

There was a soft tinkling, like a small rock falling into a terracotta bowl, and Sam turned away, squeezing his eyes shut and panting for breath. A strong smell of spices assaulted his nose and he squeezed his eyes closed, breath hissing out from between his teeth.

"Sorry about that Sammy, but it's all part of the spell, the Greeks were very into their trios, if you know what I mean."

Sam rolled his head groggily towards her his brows drawing together in confusion. The women looked mildly irritated before regaining composure, and gave a soft sigh, continuing.

"The Big Three gods? the three fates? The three furies? Really Sam! Even my sisters and I are triplets! For a Stanford educated boy such as yourself I didn't think Greek mythology would be an issue! "

Sam ignored her, swallowing before speaking, his voice thick and scratchy "S-what're you?"

She smiled, leaning closer before addressing the question.

"I am Achus. My sisters and I, we are the spirits of pain, daughters of Strife and Chaos: it is our part to play you see; there must be an order." She sighed, blade swinging absently by her side as she paced the length of the table. "All those millennia ago, we were tasked with keeping that order; without which this earth cannot possibly survive." She smirked, "Where one man must suffer, another can prosper," She shook her head.

"Yet my sisters could not appreciate our full potential. Over time our followers diminished. Culture changed, and with it came the fall of Greece. Without those who worshiped us, we became mere shadows of our former selves."

She sighed, casting Sam a sad sideways glance.

"Lupe and Ania were two sides of the same penny; whilst their art was that for grief, sorrow and distress, mine was that of anguish and pain. Though alone, I was forever the most powerful of the three of us, the smartest, most nimble minded, and so I tried to turn them to my ways, tried to show them that if they didn't side with me, side with the bodily torture of man, they would fade from existence. Man could endure whilst we would thrive; it was a new way forth for the Algea, I'd forged the path to our salvation!"

"So you're insane," Sam slurred, "…a'rebel w'thout a cause."

"I was a visionary!" She snarled, teeth bared and eyes gleaming. "They could not see, could not appreciate my brilliance! They would not listen, and slowly, over the centuries they too crumbled to rubble just as Greece had, all those millennia ago."

She smoothed back her hair before leaning in closer, lips pressed against Sam's ear causing him to shiver reflexively. She breathed heavily for a few seconds before continuing.

"But I am afraid now is neither the time nor place for such tales. Our time together wears thin."

Slowly she began to chant, stepping away from the table and clutching the bowl of Sam's skin and bone before her as she spoke. Sam squeezed his eyes closed, biting his lip as he reached a shaking hand down towards the knife in his boot. As the Algea- Achus- had spoken, the vines pinning Sam to the table had slowly loosened. Though her distraction had served to loosen his bounds, they sill gave minimal leverage on his part and Sam was afraid that any sudden movements would have him right back where he started.

Gently, inch by inch Sam bent his knee upwards, his hand stretching down towards his ankle. Still Achus chanted on, her incoherent mumbles echoing harshly around the dim room as Sam blinked dark spots from the edges of his vision. His muscles were screaming, his stomach on fire, and as his fingers curled around the edges of the knife the chanting mounted to a crescendo, each syllable echoing with a guttural undertone that sent Sam's nerves singing.

Sudden electricity scorched through his chest as his muscles cramped and he screamed, a blinding pressure exploding throughout his body. He was beyond conscious thought, white pain consumed his entire being, radiating outwards: if his heart were the epicentre, it was tearing itself apart.

And as abruptly as it started, it ended. The pain began to ebb, shivers running the length of Sam's body and he was finally able to move his limbs. He collapsed backwards onto the table, eyes rolling and breathing erratic. He struggled for breath, vaguely noting the knife-still clutched inside his palm- digging into the flesh of his hand. His vision was collapsing in on itself, the corners disintegrating into black and he barely registered the fact that Achus had started to talk again.

"You must have felt that," the Algea nodded, her chest heaving as if she'd run some vast distance. "In that moment, your brother and yourself, you were connected. You felt his pain, just as he felt yours."

Flecks of black chased each other across the purple glass of her eyes and she grinned, fangs protruding as she stared into Sam's barely conscious gaze. "I can already feel the spells effect, your brother lives, heart beating now just as yours does. He's-"

Sam's breathe hitched, emotion clogging his throat as tears welled from under his closed eyelids. Dean was alive. He was okay. Everything, all he'd been through was finally over. He wasn't going to lose him:

His big brother was going to be okay.

A watery laugh escaped him but he sobered rapidly, the suddenly furious expression of Achus before him enough to momentarily drive the relief from his mind.

Her lips were a thin bloodless line as she turned the full fury of her gaze upon the youngest Winchester.

"He's here."

"W-what?"

Sam paled, confusion knitting his eyebrows as he stared into her merciless eyes. They seemed almost black; barely any purple remained visible. The Algea advanced, talons elongated and Sam tensed, his weak grip on the knife tightening.

This was his chance.

"Who did you tell?"

"I-I didn't," His voice was weak and scratchy: mouth dry. This was it. "I didn't tell anyone." A swift backhand across the face sent his head smashing into the table and he gasped through the pain, eyes rolling.

"I didn't, didn't-ell anyone."

"There is no way that your brother could possibly have known otherwise you insolent brat! How. Did. He. Know? TELL ME!"

She drove the last sentence home, delivering a swift punch to Sam's face after each of the four words. Sam cried out in pain, head pounding as blood pouring from his nose and he gathered his resolve, fingers tightening around the knife. _Now_. He lunged forwards, ready to strike when an angry, familiar voice cut through the air.

"He wrote it down you stupid son of a bitch!"

The sound of his brother's voice filled Sam with newfound hope and he used the distraction to his advantage. Sam slashed upwards, the blade slashing through the vines holding him before plunging the knife deep into the Algea's face in one swift arching motion.

Achus screamed, the noise almost deafening in the confined space of the attic and clawed frantically at the small knife now imbedded in her eye socket.

"You _fool!_" She screamed as she swung an arm downwards, ripping long furrows into Sam's bare chest as he rolled from the table. "None shall defy the reign of the Algea, you shall pay for what you have done!"

Sam cried out in pain, curling around the freshly bleeding wounds in agony. His flayed stomach seized, the exposed muscle weeping and raw as his movements further aggravated the wound there. Consciousness began to fail as his vision dimmed, the trauma his body had gone through finally taking its toll. Suddenly he was horizontal again, though he didn't remember hitting the floor and he blinked sluggishly, dimly aware of the fight taking place before him and of his brother shouting his name.

_I'm sorry, Dean _Sam thought wearily as his eyes finally began to close. It was incredible, considering his injuries quite how long he had lasted, but now the full extent of blood loss and shock had caught up with him and there was just no fighting it. The darkness came as a blessing, gently spreading through his body and he finally relaxed, eyes falling closed as he lost the fight, finally slipping into unconsciousness.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Dean took the stairs two at a time, chest heaving as he pelted upwards towards his brother. He couldn't explain what the hell had happened or why, but somehow, after his episode in the car he knew that he had been cured. He no longer had to struggle for breath and each heartbeat came naturally, just as they had before.

Though physically a great weight seemed to have lifted from his chest, another even heavier than before had settled on his mind. Of course it was a great relief that he had been cured: he had by no means been looking forward to dying, but what really worried him, what drove a shaft of unmanageable panic into his mind was the almost certain knowledge that his baby brother had had something to do with his miraculous recovery. His big brother radar had gone off the moment he regained fathomable thought and he had felt it as he'd sat, stunned, panting on the side of the road; Sammy was in trouble.

After so many years in their line of work Dean knew that powers such as those that had taken place in the car were not something to be taken lightly. He just hoped that he could get Sam out of whatever he'd managed to get himself into before they found themselves in over their heads.

By the time Dean had cleared the stairs he was panting for breath. Even after years of running from monsters and the like it seemed laying stationary in a hospital bed for days on end was not good for ones stamina. Silently he drew his gun from the waistband of his jeans, flicking the safety off before continuing silently down the corridor. A set of double doors greeted him roughly fifteen metres ahead and he quickened his pace, muffled voices audible from the space beyond.

As Dean approached the voices became clearer, the first furious and scathing and the other, though quiet, distinctively that of his brother.

"Who did you tell?"

"I-I didn't,"

"I didn't, didn't-ell anyone."

"There is no way that your brother could possibly have known otherwise you insolent brat! How. Did. He. Know? TELL ME!"

The harsh sound of punches followed by Sam's voice raised in pain was too much to bear and Dean sprinted forwards, gun drawn as he threw the doors open.

"He wrote it down you stupid son of a bitch!"

Dean sucked in a breath, eyes darting straight to his barely conscious baby brother. Sam lay bare chested on an antique table, pinned in place by a number of leafy vines. His eyelids lay low over his eyes, nose bloody and bruising as he turned his head in the direction of Dean's voice. A small pool of tacky blood circled his pale head like a halo and Dean swallowed, mouth dry as he stared at the carnage that was Sam's abdomen.

Roughly ten inches of skin had been stripped away, the muscle beneath left exposed and weeping. Sticky blood covered both Sam and the table beneath him and a combination of puss and blood crusted nearer the wound. Dean wasn't sure to what extent the damage could be repaired but he hoped to god that it wasn't infected: though it was hard to tell under all of the blood, the angry pink of the surrounding skin suggested otherwise.

Before Dean could properly process what was happening Sam was moving, slashing upwards with a knife before he ramming it home into the eye of his captor. Dean saw what would happen a moment before it did and he sprinted forwards as the women wracked a clawed hand down Sam's bare chest.

"SAM!" Dean screamed as he ran forwards. He fired twice, both bullets pinning the creature across the right shoulder as Sam cried out, falling from the table as consciousness failed him.

"Hang on, Sam!"

The creature screamed, leaping between Dean and his brother.

"You cannot kill me, fool!" Her eyes were tight with pain: red rimmed and furious. "Sam's life force, even now is connected to my own. My rage is his rage, my pain his also: if you kill me, you kill your brother, too!"

Dean hesitated for a second, weighing up the creatures claim before smirking; "Sorry to tell you this, Sweetheart, but this ain't exactly my first rodeo."

She snarled, lunging forwards as he emptied his clip into the creature's chest.

"Hasta la vista, Bitch," Dean muttered, toeing the body with his boot for a reaction. When he received none, he advanced on the creature on the ground. Upon first glance Dean would have mistaken her for a vamp, though now she was still her parted lips revealed several rows of small pointed teeth as opposed to just one. Trailing vines grew from between sections of her hair and fell in a ring around her head and her tattered, now bloody clothing cascaded in pleats around her lifeless body.

Dean turned away, attention already set back on Sam. He sprinted to his brother's side, falling to his knees as he approached.

"Sammy, hey, Sam…SAM?"

An iron band seemed to tighten around Dean's heart and he pulled his brother's limp form against his chest as he tried to supress the paralyzing fear sweeping through him once more.

"It's gonna be ok, Sammy," he tightened his grip around his brother. "Don't worry, I've-I've got you, you're gonna be fine."

Aw, look at that, big brother Dean (as always!) to the rescue. ^-^ I promise I haven't killed lil' Sammy, well… yet! Just one more chapter to go, everyone, hope you've all enjoyed the road so far. We're mostly done with the 'hurt' part of this story, so get ready for a bucket tone of angsty/protective/comforting!Dean, maybe even some Bobby for taste? ;)

**Don't forget, I love to hear from you so please feel free to leave a review if you have the time! **

**Hope to see y'all in the next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

Darker Shoulders to Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic

Here we are guys, the last leg! Not a lot to say about this chapter, oddly, only that the support from you guys throughout this story has been absolutely incredible, so **thank you so much**! This was one of the most difficult chapters to write, so I really hope y'all enjoy!

**As always, please feel free to leave a review at the end of the chapter, feedback of any kind is always appreciated!**

* * *

_Previously…_

"_Hasta la vista, Bitch," Dean muttered, toeing the body with his boot for a reaction. When he received none, he advanced on the creature on the ground. Upon first glance Dean would have mistaken her for a vamp, though now she was still her parted lips revealed several rows of small pointed teeth as opposed to just one. Trailing vines grew from between sections of her hair and fell in a ring around her head and her tattered, now bloody clothing cascaded in pleats around her lifeless body. _

_Dean turned away, attention already set back on Sam. He sprinted to his brother's side, falling to his knees as he approached._

"_Sammy, hey, Sam…SAM?"_

_An iron band seemed to tighten around Dean's heart and he pulled his brother's limp form against his chest as he tried to supress the paralyzing fear sweeping through him once more. _

"_It's gonna be ok, Sammy," he tightened his grip around his brother. "Don't worry, I've-I've got you, you're gonna be fine."_

Getting Sam down the stairs and out of the building had been just as much of a struggle as Dean had imagined. With Sam down for the count and almost three flights of stairs to descend, the odds weren't exactly stacked in the eldest Winchester's favour. As it turned out, supporting one unconscious 6'4" not-so-little brother down about forty rickety stairs was easier said than done and Dean was panting by the time they had reached the bottom floor. He was almost ready to cry when the Impala finally came into view, parked off to the side of the building exactly where he'd left her. After covering the short distance to the car, Dean folded Sam carefully into the back seat before sprinting round to the driver's side and throwing himself behind the wheel.

There was little point driving back to the motel. It was clear that Sam's injuries were far beyond his medical pay grade and, though difficult as Sam's condition would be to explain, they had little time and even fewer options. Dean tightened his grip around the steering wheel and floored the accelerator, speeding out of the small town and back to the hospital that he had left just hours earlier. By his calculation, the drive from the motel to Sam had taken him roughly twenty minutes with a ten minute walk on top of that. Dean's eyebrows knitted together in concern as he glanced at the rear view mirror to check on his unconscious brother. He hadn't moved an inch since he'd last checked on him.

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean muttered around the tightness in his chest and gunned the engine, pushing the car ever faster down the silent highway. Panic clouded his judgement and safety precautions flew out of the window as they skidded wide round a bend, the Impala never dipping below eighty as she sped on into the night.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The Impala screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of the hospital and Dean threw on the handbrake before running around to the backseat and hauling his still unconscious brother outside.

Where the comforting rise and fall of Sam's chest should have been there was nothing, only empty space and that could mean only one thing: Sam wasn't breathing.

"No, no, no, c'mon Sammy don't you do this to me!" fear stole his breath, billowing through his brain like dry ice. No way, no freaking way was Sammy checking out on him. Dean wouldn't let it end like this. Sam was a dead weight as Dean pulled him the last few metres through the doors and into the bare waiting room. He couldn't see, couldn't think, and before he knew it he was yelling for help, his body on autopilot as he lugged Sam further into the empty space of the building.

Time slowed to a halt and for a moment Sam and Dean stood marooned in the middle of the hospital floor, greeted only by the startled expression of the young brunette receptionist sat across from them. The only sound was that of Dean's own breath, a shaky pant within the confined space of the reception and upon his next inhale sound and movement exploded into existence around them.

Within a split second half a dozen orderlies were upon them, the receptionist on the wall opposite shouting down the phone for further assistance. Sam was ripped from Dean's grasp and he had no time to protest as his brother was strapped down onto a gurney, an oxygen mask plastered over his pale face. The sound of raised voices filled the air; all numbers and medical jargon that Dean didn't properly understand and then he was panicking as the gurney began to pull away. Dean struggled toward his brother, pushing through the wall of medical personnel that were attempting blocked his path.

"... kid on a respirator, he's not breathing!"

"Pulse?"

"Negative!"

"Sir, please, stand back, this man is in a critical condition, let us help him!"

The word 'critical' hit him like a blow to the gut and Dean stumbled backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape as a blonde nurse batted him away from the crowd of people converging on his brother. In the next moment the gurney was moving again and against his will Dean found himself pushed roughly down into one of the blue plastic waiting chairs.

The nurse responsible sprinted the length of the waiting room, following the path that her co-workers must have taken seconds before and disappeared through a set of double doors after the gurney and into the hospital labyrinth beyond.

Dean sat slumped in the waiting room chair, mouth parted as he stared in silent terror at the softly swinging doors on the opposite wall. The waiting room, so alive and fevered with activity just moments before was now silent: he was alone with only his thoughts for company. Dean cradled his head in his hands and blew out a long, shaky breath before settling back into his seat. This was going to be a long wait.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The two hours that it took for Dean to receive any news on Sam gave his thoughts ample opportunity to turn bitter. The hospital itself was little more than a glorified clinic and its small, void waiting room offered little refuge to Dean from his own imagination. The biting tingle of antiseptic lay heavy and bitter on the air and served as an all-to-familiar reminder as to why and how the brother's had ended up in this mess.

The sudden screech of door hinges filled the waiting room and nurse hurried through, breaking Dean from his thoughts for a moment. He sprang to his feet, choosing to ignore the popping of his back as he stared at her in anticipation, silently pleading for news of his brother. The nurse paused, the tap of her heels on the polished floor stilling as she did a double take, staring back at the eldest Winchester with a bewildered expression on her face. There was something oddly familiar about her overall demeanour, but as Dean opened his mouth to speak she was moving again. Her pace quickened, and upon reaching a set of doors to the right of the reception desk she disappeared through them, throwing a last look over her shoulder before the doors swung shut behind her.

For a moment Dean considered following her before shaking his head in confusion and returning to his seat. If somebody came through with news of Sam then he didn't want them to find him missing.

Forgetting the nurse Dean picked up a magazine and flicked through it for half a second before replacing it on the table. The thought of reading whatever it had to say made his stomach turn. There was nothing in that magazine that could possibly distract him from the fact that behind those double doors his baby brother was most likely lying flat on an operating table surrounded by doctors trying to keep him breathing. The drying blood still coating the front of his jeans was a damn clear reminder of that.

Though it pained him to admit it, Dean had known since Sam's visit in the hospital that the kid would try something like this; a blind man could have seen it coming. Though he'd tried to explain, ease him in gently, Sam had refused to listen. He'd rejected the fact that Dean was dying. He hadn't seemed to understand how important it was that he carried on whether Dean was there beside him or not. Dean had decided years ago that if Sam kicked the bucket he would rather eat a bullet himself then be forced to walk the earth without him. People could call it selfish, unhealthy even, whatever the hell they wanted, but for all that it was worth, Dean would be damned to hell before he let his brother die before him. Sitting alone in the same waiting room that Sam had just days before, Dean felt the sickening worry that must have consumed Sam as he too had waited for Dean's own diagnosis.

The pain of waiting for news of a loved one was a specific form of torture found only between the four suffocating walls of a hospital waiting room. The guilt he felt consumed every part of his soul to a point where it became almost physically painful to think, as if Dean was sharing his brother's pain, and although he couldn't pretend he was ok with what Sam had done, as much as it terrified him, he understood why the kid had done it.

After all, if their positions were reversed, he would have done exactly the same.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It was a further hour after the odd incident with the nurse before anyone came for him. When they finally did, Dean jumped to his feet, covering half of the length of the waiting room before stopping dead in surprise at the familiar face.

The doctor approached him, a measured smile on the lips of the man who had treated him just days before for a terminal heart condition.

The man extended his arm to Dean and chuckled as he drew level with the older Winchester.

"Mr Lewis. This is a surprise. You see, when I diagnose someone with a fatal bout of vascular destress; most people don't just bounce back from that. You gave one of your nurses the quite the fright when she saw you!"

"Doc," Dean smiled tightly, grasping the man's hand in a firm handshake. "Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. I know it must be difficult to understand, I'm not sure I do yet, but I'm ok. I'm cured, one hundred percent."

The doctor's eyes sparkled and he nodded.

"I don't know how, my boy, and frankly I'm not sure that I want to, but I've seen my fair share of the impossible in my time, working in a hospital you see more than one expects they might." Dr Johnson sobered, a sudden solemn expression cloaking his features.

"I can't help but suspect that your miraculous recovery had something to do with the condition of the young man brought in with you several hours ago. I'm currently overseeing his treatment."

A sudden lump of emotion clogged Dean throat as he began to speak. He stared imploringly at the Doctor.

"Sam, he…" Dean swallowed, eyes clouded with emotion. "He's- he's my brother. He saved my life." He paused again, sinking down into a seat as Doctor Johnson waved him down. "Is he-?

The man gestured to the water machine beside him and nodded as Dean shook his head in response. He understood: Dean didn't need to be mollycoddled, or eased in gently, he needed to know whether his brother was ok.

"Your brother is currently under heavy sedation. It really was a miracle that you got him to us when you did. Ten minutes later and there is an extremely high possibility that Sam wouldn't have made it. We did have Sam on a respirator for the first hour, but that was changed as soon as possible to a cannula when his lungs began to function properly on their own. He may be thirsty when he wakes up." Dean blew out a sigh of relief. Sam was ok. Everything was going to be fine. After a moment he nodded to Dr Johnson to go on. He continued, "Perhaps the most severe of Sam's wounds were that of his abdomen. A full thickness skin graft was required to repair the damage. We have him on a drip of morphine which should dull the pain for the time being and, hopefully, if the wound remains clean and uninfected it should heal with minimal scaring. The same goes for the wounds on Sam's arm. The lesions are uninfected and partially cauterised, though they will be extremely painful and delicate as the skin properly heals." Dr Johnson smiled kindly. "Sam actually cared for them very well, they should heal nicely. Your brother suffered a bite wound to his lower ribcage and four claw-like wounds across his chest. Stitches were required for both, working to a total of forty-four stitches. Along with that, Sam sustained a chipped rib, which, if all goes to plan should heal on its own. He did require a blood transfusion, and so was administered as we saw fit, and that went incredibly smoothly, though we are monitoring him periodically for both infection and a concussion, which we are keeping a very close eye on. As a final precautionary measure, Sam is on an antibiotic drip to ensure that his wounds remain free of infection as he heels."

A short silence fell over the pair as the true gravity of Sam's wounds sunk in. Dean ran his fingers through his hair before finally speaking.

"When can I see him?"

Dr Johnson smiled, gesturing for Dean to follow him.

"We had him transferred from IC to your old room roughly ten minuses ago; we'll go as soon as you're ready."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Upon entering the familiar doorway, Dean would have most likely fallen had the frame not been there to support him. His eyes flew to the middle of the room and his mouth went dry as they landed on the prone form of his little brother. His legs wobbled beneath him as he moved stiffly towards the bed and he nodded in thanks as a chair was pressed into the back of his knees. He sank gratefully down and sucked in a breath as he stared at his little brother.

Sam's face was pale, his forehead slightly clammy with a deep purple bruising which blossomed across the bridge of his nose and lay heavy across his right cheekbone. Wires and monitors snaked their way under Sam's hospital gown, the surrounding computer screens crowded with numbers and stats that fluctuated slightly with Sam's every breath. The slight bulge across Sam's abdomen and chest suggested heavy bandaging and the cocoon of them around his forearm was enough to assure Dean of this.

Dean blew out a shaky breath as he folded his brother's limp hand into his own, staring at Sam's closed eyelids for any sign that he was close to waking.

"God, Sam," Dean whispered, giving Sam's hand a gentle squeeze. Emotion clogged his throat and he was beyond speech when the doctor, still suspended in the doorway, next spoke.

"I'll pull a few strings, make sure you can stay, seems as visiting hours are technically over. From the looks of things, you wouldn't be leaving if I asked you to." Doctor Johnson paused, turning back to address Dean. "I've seen that look on enough faces to know when someone's blaming themselves, Dean. However much you think this was your fault, however responsible you feel, you just remember Sam's in good hands now, all thanks to you. You say Sam saved your life but it seems that you've got his back just as good. Just think on that, Son. "

Dean nodded as the doctor departed, far from over blaming himself yet. He closed his eyes and allowed the steady beep of the heart monitor to minimally calm him, its stable rhythm soothing his pounding mind.

"Any time you wanna wake up, Sammy, that's fine by me. I'm getting kinda tired'a waiting on your Sasquatch ass." Dean searched his brother's face for any kind of reaction. When he received none he continued. He smirked.

"Yah know, I could cut off that ridiculous mop o' yours and you wouldn't even now about it. Could make a beautiful Vin Diesel outta you." Dean's only response was the sound of his brother's soft breathing and the constant hum of the heart monitor. He blew out a long shaky breath and tucked his chair closer to the bed. "C'mon Sammy, please. I just need you to- I need to know you're gonna be ok. C'mon Bitch."

Sam just kept right on sleeping, his eyelashes fluttering softly against his flushed checks. Dean sighed, laying his head to rest on the bed beside Sam's hip, his hand still gently holding his brother's.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Sam was drifting, conscious thought sliding through his fingers like fine silt on a riverbank. His brain was foggy, his senses clouded and muffled as if he were underwater, and it took him a long moment to realise that he wasn't. Sound returned first, everything loud and invasive, stabbing at his tender head like pins in a voodoo doll. Sam was slowly pulled forward, a garish beeping drawing him from the depths of his lethargic state like a fish on a line. A muted ache throbbed through his body with every pulse and he groaned at the new invasive and unnatural sensation, rolling his head to one side and knitting his brows in pain.

Ever so gingerly Sam peeled his eyelids open, observing his surroundings through hooded eyelashes. Bad move. The room was a flash of blinding white, its colour startlingly bright upon his addled brain. His head pounded and he snapped his eyes shut again as he rode out the wave of pain and nausea that had accompanied his attempt to open his eyes. Sam breathed deeply through his nose, teeth gritted as he repressed the rolling of his stomach and his pounding head.

After several minutes Sam slowly came back to himself, aware of a soft, comforting pressure on his left hand and he flexed his fingers cautiously, twisting his head to the side where his eyes fell on the sleeping form of his big brother.

Dean sat slumped in a plastic chair, his head laid on the bed next to him and his body hunched forward in an awkward position that would almost certainly result in a chronic case of stiff neck. His shoulders rose and fell softly in turn with his breathing, and his eyelashes fluttered softly where they fell upon his pale cheeks. Everything about his brother spoke of great stress and exhaustion, yet as he slept on, Sam couldn't help but notice how peaceful he appeared, how the years of responsibility and guilt seemed to peel away revealing the gentle big brother that had raised him.

As if on que Dean began to stir, groaning as he pushed himself backwards from the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He popped his back, pausing mid-stretch as he noticed Sam's heavy eyes on him.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean breathed, once again taking up his brother's hand from where he'd dropped it moments before.

Sam's mouth twitched, too tired to berate Dean for using his nickname and swallowed thickly.

"Thought y'said no chick flick moments."

Dean chuckled, his eyes sparkling in relief at the sound of his brother's voice. "Shuddup, Princess. You've put me through enough these last twelve hours." He squeezed Sam's hand gently again, careful not to hurt him further. He didn't want to berate Sam, not so soon after him waking up anyway, that would come later, but it was important that he knew how real the consequences of his stupid decision had almost become.

"You're ok." Sam's voice was rough and strained. He tried to sit up, pushing weakly at the bedframe. Dean nodded, jaw tight as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and he stilled, sensing that his brother was about to speak.

"It was close Sam. The Doc says ten minutes later and, well, your bacon was fried. You stopped breathing as we pulled up."

Sam nodded, taking it in as his eyes slipped closed again.

"Sam-"

"I'd do it again Dean." Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam continued, "You always seem to forget that you're not the only one with a brother to protect. It's a two way street, dude. I'm not gonna pretend I'm sorry for what I did, I'm not, you can hate me all you want but it doesn't change anything. We're ok and that's all that's ever mattered. You've said it yourself; we go together or not at all. I couldn't, not without-"

He swallowed thickly and bowed his head as his breath clogged in his throat, eyes welling with emotion. There could never be a second thought, never had been, not when it came to Dean; because he wasn't sure he could keep going if his big brother checked out on him. He swallowed past the pressure in his chest; eyes lifting again to meet his brother's.

"Well, not on my watch. That's the last time you pull any o'that stupid Lone Ranger crap on me."

Sam chuckled, his eyes slipping closed. Exhaustion pulled at his every sense and his brain began to slow, the events of the night finally taking their toll on his body.

Dean noted Sam's sleepy expression and snorted. His voice was soft and mischievous when he next spoke.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Huum?"

"Y'know, I never would have let you die here,"

Sam cracked a single eyelid, smirking as he mumbled in response.

"Oh yeah, why's-at?"

"The nurses, dude." He grinned at Sam's baffled expression. "No brother of mine is going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

Sam laughed, his head rolling to the side as sleep finally took him. His brother there, witty slurs and all, heart healthy and beating beside him and that's all that mattered. They were going to be ok. The job was hard, hell, it always had been, but together they always found a way to keep fighting: just the two of them against the world.

"Goodnight, Jerk,"

Dean chuckled, "Goodnight, Bitch."

* * *

_There yah have it folks! It's been a wild ride! Thank you all so much for reading and I really hope that you enjoyed this story: please feel free to leave a review if you have the time; I love to hear from you!_

**Author's note: **_One of the main issues with this story was the fact that I decided not to write the entire story before posting each of the chapters, and so I instead opted to alternate between posting and writing chapters. Bad move! I quickly discovered that it takes a lot less time and effort to post a chapter than actually create, write and edit one…hence the year long hiatus! _


End file.
